


Who am I and what do I do?

by woollen_pharaohs



Category: Bates Motel (2013)
Genre: Angst, Incest, M/M, a whole lot of angst!, half-brother incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-06
Updated: 2014-06-06
Packaged: 2018-02-03 14:55:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1748627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/woollen_pharaohs/pseuds/woollen_pharaohs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Norman has become a mute and has fallen into a trance-like state. To ensure Norman is kept safe from his mother, Dylan takes Norman to a safe place and looks after him. But of course, Norma cannot escape him, and Dylan has to accept to his fate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Who am I and what do I do?

Norman's mind has shut him off from the world, a defence mechanism. The doctors said there's nothing they can do, that it's up to Norman to open up to the world again. They said, with a comforting hand over his, that Norman will need constant care. That Dylan will have to feed him, wash him, put him to bed. That he'll have to talk to him every day, encourage conversation, emphasise normality and maybe one day, with time, Norman might feel comfortable enough, safe enough, to break down his own walls, to come out of his shell. But they don't know for sure that will even happen, that Norman will ever be, well, as 'normal' as he had ever be again. Dylan could end up having to look after a mute Norman his entire life.

The doctors say this to him with pity in their eyes and if Dylan had never come to White Pine Bay, seeking out his family as his very last resort, then maybe he would have been able to walk away. Back then, his mother and brother were memories as old and forgotten as a paperback dictionary, but since coming to this town he got himself embroiled in home life dramas and drug wars bursting at the brim of this seemingly sleepy town. The things he's seen, things he's done, he could never go back to his life before. Perhaps being born out of incest he's destined for a broken life.

Dylan pulls his truck up at the beach, if you could call it a beach. There's not much sand, just small, slippery rocks scattered over the shore. Despite it being a warm summer's day, there's no one around. He supposes the locals are at the nicer beaches of the town, or else enjoying the sea water from their own private property.

The truck's engine rumbles, vibrating Norman in his seat. It's just about the most movement Dylan has seen in his brother in a few weeks now. Dylan grits his teeth. Honestly he doesn't know if what he's doing is helping his brother or not. He's never had to look after anyone like this. The closest he's ever got to this was looking after a rat when he ran away from home. He was couch surfing at a friend's house and this particular friend, well, he never heard of putting rubbish in the bin. There was always something for the rat to eat, to scavenge for in that hovel of a house. Is it bad to say Dylan learnt something from that skeletal mammal? Dylan liked to think he had a hand in looking after the rat, like it had in teaching Dylan how to find food in piles of rubbish. But even then, the rat would do its own thing, Dylan would do his own thing, and only really on particularly cold nights would the rat cuddle up to him, seeking warmth. He supposed he had the feelings of parenthood without the burden of constant care.

Dylan turns off the ignition and slips out of the car. He rounds the front and opens the passenger side door, unbuckles Norman, helps him to his feet. Norman needs 24/7 care, there's no time for Dylan to hang out with friends, to go to the gym, to take a walk by himself. He's okay with that, mostly, he's okay with having to look after his brother because it's better that it's him than his mother. And it's up to him to make sure Norma can never get close to Norman again.

They step out on the pier, Dylan's arm tucked around Norman's waist, holding him up as they make their way to the end of the wooden slats. Already he can feel the cool breeze come off the water, taste the salt on his lips. He helps Norman sit down, slips off his shoes, sets them aside with socks neatly folded inside the shoes. He rolls up Norman's pants then helps him ease his feet into the cool water. Dylan glances at Norman, watches for a reaction, but there's not even a twitch in his eye.

Dylan submerges his own bare feet in the water, seated beside his brother. He holds his hand gently in his lap, rubs the skin in case he's able to rub the life back into him. Dylan remembered this movie he saw when he was a kid where they took a mentally ill patient outside, and just being amongst the beauty of nature was enough to get something out of them. It wasn't like Dylan believed in something like this magically working, but he had hope. Being near the water did always make him feel calm.

A speed boat zooms past not too far from where they're sitting. Shortly afterwards, as the water begins to ripple towards them, a man on a jet ski swings past, obnoxiously shouts a homophobic remark supposedly aimed at them. The water splashes up against their legs and Norman jerks away, snaps his hand out of Dylan's and balls his hands into fists. His eyes grow wider than ever before and he begins to breathe in rapid, short breaths. Instinctively, and later Dylan might admit this supposed instinct might have been attributed to him by Norma, Dylan wraps his arms around Norman, holds him tight, tries to calm him, to unclench his fists, stop his nails from cutting into his skin.

Norman begins to rock back and forth, incensed by a combination of cold water slapping his skin and the cold remark that pierced his ears. Dylan shifts his feet out of the water, slings his legs either side of his brother and hooks his arms underneath Norman's. This way, he tries to calm his brother, to stop the rocking, to pull him to his senses, his senseless self. On occasion Dylan's inner voice gets bitchy like he's channelling Norma. He thinks stuff that he would never say out loud, stuff that disgusts him for even thinking it. Wondering if his brother is faking it, wondering if Norman does it for show, does it just to see how the people in his lives will fold around him, fold to his will, to take care of him like he's one of the plastic babies. Except Dylan's stuck with a model where the sound chip is broken and all it does is eat, sleep and shit and make Dylan feel like he's talking to one of Norman's lifeless animals. So it's times when Norman chooses to show emotion, to show Dylan he's not completely dead on the inside, Dylan starts to doubt his brother.

It's his voice but it's Norma's words that speak to him in the back of his mind, it's her who tears down his walls, makes him think bad things, makes him believe, if only for moments at a time, that Norman's pulling his leg, pulling him along for the ride, which would mean Dylan could technically leave him, let his brother fend for himself like he did when Dylan ran away from home. It's Norma's words that whisper to him, coax him to gain enough courage to abandon his brother, to move on with his life, forget what he's left behind, forget who he is, believe he can forget like Norman can. But the truth is, he can't forget like Norman can, he can't black out and force his mind to always think about the grassier side of the hill, where the grass is greener and alive and not dried up, shrilled under the nutrition-less bloodshed. He can't stop thinking about what his brother has been through, what he's done, what he's capable of, what Norma's capable of if she ever found him again. Dylan's all Norman has left, he can't abandon his brother, not again.

Norman slows his rocking, warms into his brother's hold. Dylan presses his forehead on his brother's shoulder, hugs him tight. Salt drips into his mouth and he's ashamed to break his strength in front of his brother, but sometimes he can't help his despair from spilling from him. Dylan is inextricably tied to his family, in ways he would never choose for anyone, but in ways of his own doing, is forced to endure. Being born of incest between brother and sister, perhaps it's fate that he can't leave the ties of his family, can't break off that last string strung between he and his half-brother. And when he says it to himself, low in his throat, words unable to breach through lips, frozen on his tongue, he knows it's not Norma's, though she has said it and meant it a thousand times. He rolls the thought around in his mouth like he has many times now, not as often as she, but getting there. He thinks it with guilt laden honesty; that he loves his brother.

 

-

 

Norman sits upright on the edge of his bed, feet crossed behind his ankles. Dylan always told Norman that he would find a place for them by the sea. Of course, back at the start, he imagined that he would find a job at a bar or something to keep them going, and after school he would take Norman out to the ocean and teach him how to surf and they could talk about girls and the future and the whereabouts and activities of Norma Bates would never be on their minds.

Now, Dylan lives off left over drug money. Rich people have trusted bank accounts strung through numerous untraceable identities. Dylan didn't have those kinds of connections. He didn't even have a bank account. Instead he stashed his wads of cash away in different places, unknown to even Remo. He wasn't dumb enough to hide a lot of it in Norma's house. He knew he never wanted to stay there long, besides, the house was old enough that one flick of a cigarette could ignite it whole.

So money wasn't really an issue. He had it coming in from all over the town, and it wasn't like he had time or the capacity to work a day job. Getting Norman to sit in front of the tv was the closest he could get to teaching Norman how to surf. And as for Norma, well, the fact that he doesn't know where on Earth she is doesn't really help to comfort him. The bass line is still the same, the farther away Norman is from his mother, the better off he's going to be. In theory anyway.

Dylan sags against the door frame, watching his brother stare out the window. He wonders if Norman is truly watching something out there, if his brain registers a sight to focus on, if he's watching the waves smash against the shore, the seagulls soar across the sky, or if he's watching a film on repeat in his mind, an endless retelling of the horrors he has endured. Dylan makes his way to his brother, kneels at his feet. He punches a straw through a juice box and places the tip of it in his brother's mouth.

Norman's tongue probes the straw and Dylan can feel the juice leave the carton as Norman sucks. Some days he doesn't drink any, not until late at night. It's not like Dylan can tell when he's hungry or thirsty, he just has to try, see if Norman wants it. Norma's voice lingers in his mind as he thinks about leaving Norman alone, pushing his brother's barriers until he's forced to meet his needs for himself. He's not going to lie, he's thought about leaving for just a few hours, regain any sanity he once had, but he's horrified of returning home and finding his brother starved, wasting away in his bed. It's Norma who tries to convince him that Norman will be fine, it's Dylan's consciousness that won't risk it.

The juice box is just about dry so Dylan takes the straw away from his brother, sets the box down on the carpet. He's about to get up when he catches Norman's eyes flickering to his. Dylan feels like he's floating, that point between underestimating where the next stair is, missing the step, that floating, dreadful feeling of uncertainty. The feeling of trepidation, the anticipation and knowing that in times like this before, when Norman blacks out, the ensuing rage, the violence, the pain. But Norman smiles. It's a small one, but it conveys so much. It reminds Dylan of Norman's humanity, and he'll never be guiltier than he will be over the thought that Norman could be anything but human, anything but a soulful, joyful boy.

His façade cracks and his face crumples. He's simultaneously happy and wrung in despair. _This is how it is, this is how it is_ , he repeats to himself. A cycle of Dylan trying to be strong, trying to coax his brother out of his muteness, of Dylan doubting himself, doubting his ability to care, to nourish, of Dylan suspecting Norman of ill will, of Dylan despising Norman for ruining what could have been, as if it was only his fault, of Norman every so often expressing himself, of Dylan's hope being reignited. The cycle does not begin, or end. Only those willing to learn can change.

 

-

 

The walls are thin, they sleep inches apart, divided only by cheap plaster. Norma used to say she would make that arrangement out of protection, Dylan wonders when he allowed himself to become just like her.

Nightmares haunt his brother's sleep, it's a wonder he can even get to sleep at all. Staring out into space day in and day out, he supposes Norman gets used to using the smallest amount of energy each day, a trained minimalist in consumption. There's no need for Norman to be awake for the long hours of the day, he stirs just before midday and sleeps at nightfall. Short, quiet days. Long, dream-riddled nights.

Sometimes he shouts, the sound electrifies Dylan's bones, shocks him awake. Norman's dream self totally encompasses him, dispossesses his soul and reanimates Norman into a scared child. All Dylan can do during these times is climb into bed with him, hug him, soothe him, whisper calm words until Norman settles. Dylan used to be as scared as Norman, scared for his life, worried that at any moment the devil that resides in Norman's skin would resurface, take his life away. Dylan doesn't think like that anymore, that's Norma talking, that's Norma trapped under Norman's skin, forever entwined in the very making of his brother.

He presses his brother's hair down, smooths his palms across matted hair, massages his scalp, his neck, soothes his brother. It's his own inner Norma who plants a kiss on his brother's cheek, it's Norma who's naked chest is pressed against his brother's back, flush hot in fear and sweat, and worry and love. _It's Norma, that's not him_ , he tries to convince himself.

Dylan tries to hold his brother still who is insistent on tossing around in bed. Norman is able to wriggle free of his brother, but instead of escaping, he rolls over to his side, faces his brother. His eyes are wide open, but as blank as the lens of a camera. Norman presses his lips against Dylan's. Dylan's lips tingle and the numbness extends throughout his body as he leans into the kiss, his once thrashing brother suddenly passionate and soft. He feels the ghostly presence of his mother behind him, her hand rests on his shoulder and she says to him gleefully, a collage of words drawn from memory, _this is your fate_.

 

-

 

The half-life of the chemical reaction of bubble bath in hot water has long expired, sad leftovers cling to the surface of the murky water. It has long past the time they should get out but Norman's gotten comfortable with his head rested in the crook of Dylan's neck. The sun barely shines through the dirty sky light, makes it seem like late afternoon when in fact it's midday. His brother's chest rises and falls, Dylan wonders if Norman's awake or if it's peaceful for him as it is for Dylan, just being together, alone, resting.

The water starts to cool down to a tepid temperature, so Dylan toes the plug to let out some water. At this, his brother jerks forward, bats his brother's feet away from the plug.

"It's okay, I was just going to let some water out so I could fill it up with more hot," Dylan says, drawing closer to his brother.

Norman turns around in the water, his body soaked and skin shrivelled, porcelain white legs pressed against the imitation porcelain of the bath. His hair, semi-dried and frizzy, shoulders illuminated in a moon-like light from the unclear skylight, Norman looks like debauchery personified to Dylan. His brother straddles Dylan's lap, leans back on Dylan's folded legs. When they were small, Dylan used to play a game with his much younger brother. He would let Norman sit on him like this, and he would let Norman take hold of his arms, use them as a steering wheel as they would play make believe. He would jiggle his little brother around on his lap mimicking the rocky ride of a car, roll right when Norman moved his arms right, roll right again when Norman was sure he turned Dylan's arms left. Now, his brother nearing eighteen, straddled on his lip, back arched against his legs and neck craning towards the ceiling like he's some kind of angel, Dylan can't get it out of his head that this boy is his small, defenseless younger brother, the brother he's meant to protect, the brother he's meant to take to safety, away from his manipulative, narcissistic mother.

His vision blurs, his brother's skin smudges against the grimy tiles and becomes one with the background. Self-doubt and disgust overcomes him as he locks down all other senses except touch when he feels his brother's ass grind against his cock. If Dylan knew prayers he would recite them like the hell mouth had opened beneath his feet. If Dylan didn't believe the devil bled into him the day he was conceived he would have known better, he would have done better for Norman. Instead he falls to his tailor-made fate and succumbs to lust, let's Norman take him, use him, dismantle him.

Norman breathes heavy, short breaths, clenches his hands around Dylan's waist. He wants to say a million things to his brother, _you're beautiful, you're glorious, you're sexy, you're disgusting, you're revolting, you make me sick, I'm sick_.

Dylan moves his hands around Norman's hips, feels the muscles work at moving, labour through the movement he hasn't done in days, weeks, months. Norman drags Dylan's right hand to Norman's cock, a subtle hint and when Dylan hesitates, Norman bends down, hands either side of his brother's neck and he stares, half-lidded, into Dylan's eyes, a encouraging contestation. After the body language of allowance, he begins to rub his brother's shaft, sloppily at first, then matches the movements of his brother. The murky water trickles into his ears and his skin crawls, his brother pleasuring himself on his dick in the dimly lit bathroom, _it's a dream, it has to be a dream_. Norman doesn't last long, he comes in Dylan's hands with a grunt and a gargle and the tensing of bones, the grating of teeth. He makes noises no sibling should be familiar with, but he doesn't stop with Dylan. Perhaps having a consistently blank mind allows Norman to remain active whilst blinded. Norman lifts his head, faces his brother and he licks his lips, a sly grin on his face, an ex-arch angel, fallen from grace. Dylan blanks out and he prolongs it as much as possible. Thinks about the monks with light breathing in the mountains close to god, how they hum and think of nothing but their devotion to god.

Norman sits up on the edge of the bath, kicks the plug out, lets the water begin to scream its way to death. Dylan wishes he could go with the water, be suctioned out of the bath, slip down the drain, fall into the darkness of pipes. He could be rattled about in the lead pipes, be strewn out into the sea and he wouldn't mind. He bets Norma never went this far. He selfishly hopes she had just to make himself feel better.

Dylan drags himself out of the tub, the sensation of water pulling off his skin, of Norman pulling off his cock, is stuck on a loop. He goes to his bedroom, throws on pants, a shirt. He closes the front door behind him and doesn't care that he's not wearing shoes. He walks down the street and doesn't care, for the time being, that he's left Norman alone, grinning gleefully on the edge of the tub, that mirror of Norma on his wide grin.

 

-

 

Dylan imagined Norman would come running for him. Pigeon toed, long lanky legs getting in the way as he runs. Dylan used to always find it funny how eager Norma used to get to talk to Norman, how she would run from the motel rooms all the way to the house, her arms swinging tightly close to her chest. What was ever so urgent? But his brother didn't come after him. _He doesn't care. No, he's unfit_. He's tired of wandering around, hanging close to the house in hopes that his brother might seek him out. He should have known Norman wouldn't come after him.

He finds Norman still in the bath, water dried up, head rested uncomfortably across the tap. Dylan began to get angry at Norman for playing the comatose card again. For making him feel bad for leaving Norman alone for so long. He hooks his arms around his brother, helps him out of the bath. His kid brother can't do anything for himself, didn't his mother ever teach him independency? Dylan gets him into bed, tucks him in. Maybe if Norman was as neglected as he was as a child, he would know how to function as a normal human being.

Dylan laughs at himself. Normal was never a thing any of them knew how to understand. He sits on the end of the bed, facing away from Norma and listens to the waves crash against the shore. The sun shines across the water as it falls off the edge of the Earth and Dylan wonders when he'll see the same sun again. Will tomorrow prove the world is cyclical? The abused destined to abuse again, for that's all they know. History doomed to repeat itself, blood ties into ties, into ties, forever interconnected with generations. And, in time, will Dylan be here, in this room, in the world, with Norman? His Norman, his brother, his normal.

**Author's Note:**

> i did actually have a happy ending planned, where Dylan would decide to start getting respite services and would meet someone nice who could help him. And with that help and resemblance of normalcy returning to Dylan's life, Norman starts to get better too. But i think this way suits better - sorry!


End file.
